


Losers and Lemonade

by thevirgins



Series: The Reddie Confession Tapes [4]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing and Singing, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, eventually, lemonade mouth au, no clown at least, this was a mistake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevirgins/pseuds/thevirgins
Summary: A group of unlikely friends get detention, start a revolution, and maybe fall a little in love on the way.Lemonade Mouth? In my Losers Club? It's more likely than you think.





	1. Turn Up The Music

**Author's Note:**

> okay so,,, i rewatched the iconic lemonade mouth a little while ago and had this fleeting idea.... and it's devolved into this. so here you go, friends. make of this what you will.
> 
> PS: lemonade mouth unfortunately only really has five (maybe 6 if you count Scott) major characters, so I had to improvise a bit? sorry i Tried
> 
> chapters divided by songs in the movie
> 
> olivia (bridget mendler girl) - eddie  
> wendell (ginger rapper guy!) - richie  
> stella yamada (lesbian jesus hayley kiyoko) - bev  
> mo (classically trained violinist who somehow picks up a stand-up bass and knows what she's doing and then does the same with a bass guitar) - stan  
> charlie (emo drummer sk8tr boi) - bill lmfao  
> scott (mo's bf in their rival band!) - mike  
> that AV kid who makes CD's for lemonade mouth - ben lol sorry ben i love you it just had to be like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and so it begins
> 
> um so each chapter revolves around the songs in the movie this one is centered on the first one "turn up the music" so if for whatever reason you haven't seen lemonade mouth or don't know the song you need to rectify that?
> 
> also DON'T BE UPSET ABOUT FIRST PERSON AT THE VERY BEGINNING IT JUST COINCIDES WITH THE MOVIE'S NARRATION THIS FIC IS NOT ALL FIRST PERSON i promiseeee

Derry High was painfully conventional, far more mundane than your average small town high school. As per usual, the status quo was completely set in stone: pretty rich people ruled and forced every outcast to either conform or hide. Teachers were too jaded from their feeble salaries to make even the smallest effort within the classroom. The principal, Robert Gray, was a pompous jack-off who dearly tried to compensate for either his loneliness, power complex, a secret micropenis, or perhaps all of the above concurrently. He was cruel but flaccid, incapable of actually doing anything worthwhile himself. If there was a character alignment named after him, it would be something like  _"pathetic evil."_

Furthermore, the school was cursed with the cliche and futile battle between athletics and the arts. The main buildings were falling apart, decrepit in comparison to the opulent new gymnasium. Principal Gray, like the wrinkled vulture he was, scavenged for any money he could get out of every department in order to groom his massive sports center and stroke his ego. The extravagant gym soared above the rest of the school, fiberglass windows and linoleum floors so shiny they could blind a person, trophies stacked high along the walls, and a massive plaque inscribed with Gray's name above the entrance. 

Like I said. Compensating. 

If you didn't detest Derry High, you were probably a little brain-dead. I swear, the school felt like a prison you had a life sentence in sometimes. Gray had cameras everywhere, watching our every move. The austerity of the architecture didn't do it any favors either. It seemed like Gray had tried to spruce up the barren landscape at some point, but the scraggly bushes scattered throughout the "green" spaces belonged in the yard of the Neibolt House. There was no discernible order to the "plants," and they all appeared perpetually dead anyway. To put it short, the school was a fucking eyesore. 

Derry High would have been the last choice for the setting of the most desperate Hollywood sitcom, too boring to even attract the dumbest of soaps addicts like Sonia Kaspbrak. 

My mother. 

What. A. Cunt. 

She must be wondering why I refuse to address her directly in this letter that I am specifically writing to her. Well, I figure if she won't accept the person I've become, I don't have to acknowledge her. She probably won't even read this, throwing it away with a snarl once she skims the return address. But, if she is, I hope she finishes it. I want to tell her a story. 

The story of Lemonade Mouth, and how it saved my goddamn life from the depths of the hellscape she trapped me in as a kid.

It all began a month into junior year at that very Derry High I referred to above. To be more precise, it all began in detention at that very Derry High. 

* * *

"Beverly! We need to leave  _now._ " 

Bev drowned her mother's yells with a furious riff on her guitar. She closed her eyes, picturing a wild crowd and blinding lights. Thousands, no,  _millions_ of people yelling her name. She whisper-screamed along with her adoring fans, bowing with a flourish when her mother yelled again. She clenched her jaw and look up to the heavens for strength before huffing out a breath and setting down her guitar. Lazily slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she trudged down the stairs with multiple exasperated sighs. She wasn't surprised when her mother met her at the bottom, finger wagging in front of her stern glare.

"Beverly Marsh. We are going to be late. Let's  _go._ Before your father gets up." Mrs. Marsh glanced surreptitiously at her closed bedroom door before ushering Bev out of the house, not even bothering to offer breakfast.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to Derry High, Bev's prison for the next two years. _Technically_ two years minus one month. She stared at the threatening exterior without an iota of excitement.

"I know how hard it must be to start school late, Beverly..." her mother sighed. Bev immediately scoffed.

"So why'd we move then, Mom? Hm? Care to remind me why the hell I'm stuck here?" Bev  _hated_ when she could hear herself being passive-aggressive, but she couldn't help it when her mom acted like a twat; she learned from the best. 

Mrs. Marsh inhaled deeply, tapping on the steering wheel with her perfectly manicured acrylics, cleared her throat, and replied, "Your father is looking for a new job today." Her voice was monotone, devoid of all emotion. Bev snorted and rolled her eyes.  _The Return of the Twat!_  

Mr. Marsh had been kicked out of his cushy office job in Portland because he sexually harassed and assaulted three different women in the office. Really. Why her mother stayed with him, Bev couldn't, and had no desire to, begin to postulate. Not that her mother ever really cared when he was a dick to Bev. Just interesting that even actual consequences beyond a maladapted and angry daughter didn't faze her.

Instead of snapping back, Bev abruptly got out of the car with her bag, slamming the passenger door shut behind her and marching towards the formidable doors ahead of her. She heard her mother scrambling to catch up, whisper-yelling her full name.

Bev carried on at her brisk pace until someone stepped out and blocked her path. He had that Neo-Nazi haircut, and he wore an obnoxious letterman jacket, "BOWERS" sewn fancily on the breast. Her brow furrowed as the newcomer eyed her up and down with a smirk,  _asshole_ written across his freckled forehead. He laughed derisively at her, looking back at his cronies and reveling in their supporting snickers. Bev flipped him off with a scowl before shoving past him, her mother hot on her trail, heels  _clip-clapping_ in the way that would forever haunt Bev. 

A few miles away, Richie Tozier sat in his dad's truck, only half-listening to his latest tirade over Richie's style choices. Today, these choices included a garishly pink Hawaiian shirt over his favorite  _The Cure_  tee, along with bright blue trackpants and ratty old converse. Mr. Tozier was a stickler for conformity, "respectability" as he called it, but Richie severely lacked  both talent and interest in the area.

"I just don't get why you have to dress like an idiot, Richard. I mean, you look like a goddamn fool! I don't care if you think you look 'cool,' it's just ridiculous." 

No, Richie did not think his fashion was  _cool_. That wasn't the point of his clothing. He was a loud guy, he liked loud clothing. So what? But he held his tongue. The argument simply wasn't worth his energy at the moment. Instead, his mind was buzzing at warp speed, sifting through chord progressions far too quickly to make anything productive out of them.

After a few more agonizing minutes, they finally pulled up to Derry High. Richie hopped out of the truck and, without glancing back, strolled over to the right side of the school, his favorite place for a morning smoke. His father left without a goodbye.

As Richie wandered off, the Denbrough vehicle came to a squeaky stop in front of the school. In it, Bill Denbrough sat trapped in his daily agony, waiting to see if his parents would actually bid him farewell. Ever since his little brother Georgie died earlier that summer, the Denbroughs had been frozen in a terrible depressive state. Instead of lovingly greeting Bill in the mornings with a delicious breakfast and a ruffle of his hair, his father sat curled up on the couch, staring at nothing and thinking of nothing. Instead of kissing Bill on the cheek and pulling him in for a hug when she got off work, Bill's mother immediately retreated to her office without a word.

Bill hadn't moved on either. Georgie was the single most important person in his life, no question, but that didn't mean Bill enjoyed constantly wallowing. How could he move on when his parents weren't even trying? How could he, when he knew his parents blamed him for Georgie's death? Bill had no idea how to breach the chasm within his family, and he'd reluctantly become resigned to a future of silence and sorrow.

Today was no different. Bill gave up on receiving any kind of acknowledgment and got out of the car, his movements heavy and his eyes watery. He feebly waved a hand as his parents drove away before awkwardly dropping it and turning towards the school. As he approached the intimidating steps, he caught sight of a car he recognized all too well.

 _Stan_. 

Bill blatantly stared as Stan gracefully exited his car, gently brushing off his father's nagging. 

"Don't forget the extra credit, Stanley. The rabbi's son should be an achiever, yes?" 

Stan grimly nodded and bade farewell to Mr. Uris, Bill's eyes never leaving him. Stan stared after his father's car, and as soon as it left the school lot, he ripped the yarmulke off his head and hastily stuffed it into his backpack with a disdainful expression.

From behind him, Bill heard a deep, warm "Stan!". He turned to find Mike Hanlon walking past him with a wide grin. Stan's face brightened at the same time Bill's fell. He knew Mike and Stan were a thing, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. He shook his head to clear his mind and turned on his heel to enter the school.

The warning bell rang out just as Eddie Kaspbrak roughly brought his bike to a hard stop. Heaving for breath, he dug in his fanny pack for his inhaler. The second after he triggered it, he cursed himself, shame flooding his entire body as the bitter "medicine" entered his lungs.  _I don't need that I don't need that I don't need that I don't ne-_

The late bell ripped him from his thoughts. He hurriedly parked his bike and locked it, all while haphazardly balancing his books and backpack. A second later, a tall figure smelling of smoke bolted past him. He whipped his head up just in time to see Richie Tozier flying through the school doors. Suddenly, he fumbled and dropped everything in his hands. Blushing and furiously cursing, he scrambled to pick up all his papers and books and ran into the building, heart pounding for more reasons than just his exertion. 

"Mike, I can't skip! Do you know how pissed my dad would be if he found out? He'd kill me!" Mike had pulled Stan aside in the entrance hall, a plea to ditch on his tongue. He took Stan's hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

"Babe, I get it... I just wish we could spend more time together, you know?" Mike shrugged, playfully swinging Stan's arm. 

Stan smiled apologetically. "Me too, Mike. Really." That smile quickly morphed into a devilish grin as a flashbulb went off in his mind. "You know... we have free period right now... and the gym should be empty." 

Mike's wide-eyed and excited expression was enough of a response for Stan, who hurriedly dragged him away. 

In Principal Gray's office sat Bev and her mother. Mrs. Marsh had just finished her token "the move has really been hard on her" speech, and Gray was staring down Bev. She stared right back, inwardly smirking when he broke eye contact first. He glanced down at her shirt, a frown working on his face. She raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Ms. Marsh, I'm afraid that shirt is... well, _inappropriate_ for Derry High." He smiled at her, a despicable, condescending upturning of his gross old-man lips that had Bev's toes curling.

She glanced down at the garment in question. It was a printed tee stating "Question Authority." She blinked up at Gray innocently. "I wasn't aware there was a dress code here?"

Gray's nose wrinkled for a second, eye twitching in annoyance. "Not exactly, but there are certain... expectations, you see. And that shirt is blatant disrespect of and disregard for your superiors."

"Am I not allowed to express myself? That hardly seems constitutional,  _sir_. And this isn't private school. I could sue." She heard her mother groan.

"Beverly, just take my jacket. Don't be so difficult," she viciously whispered while removing the garment. She looked pointedly at Bev, wordlessly threatening her, as she handed it over.

Bev's confidence wavered, and she reluctantly covered her shirt, Gray smirking the whole time. 

He straightened his tie and flexed his thick, pudgy fingers. "We don't allow for any...  _miscreants_ here at Derry High. Your behavior will not be tolerated for long, young lady." 

Bev tuned him out almost instantly, eyes drifting over to the security feed screens on Gray's wall.  _What the fuck, he's spying on us?_   She almost voiced her outrage when she noticed an interesting detail in the corner. 

Gray eventually realized her attention lay elsewhere and quickly turned to track her line of vision. At the very edge of the leftmost screen, the gymnasium, there were two students  _having relations_ in the bleachers. Bev was stifling laughter behind him, only fueling his mounting rage. He ushered Bev and Mrs. Marsh out of his office and stomped down towards the gym, thirsting for retribution.

Minutes later, Stan sat in the same chair Bev had occupied. 

"Please, Mr. Gray! Please don't call my father! He'd never let me out of the house ever again. I swear, I'll do anything. I'll... I'll clean floors or something like that! I'll take a million detentions as long as he doesn't find out! Please, sir," Stan pleaded, pulse racing. 

Gray leaned against his desk for a moment, bouncing Stan's words back and forth through his mind. "I won't call your father, Mr. Uris. This is your first disciplinary action, and you  _are_ on honor roll... I think I'll just give you detention and call it a day, hm?"

"Oh thank you, Mr. Gray, thank you! Yes, sure, detention's fine!" 

"Don't let me find you breaking rules again,  _Uris_."

After escaping Gray's office, Stan found Mike waiting for him. He smiled brightly before relating his fortune. 

"At least we'll be together, right?" Stan paused at Mike's hesitance.

"About that... I kinda just got a warning? You know, it's football season and all..." 

"Oh."  _Fucking really?_   "Well, I gotta go to class. See you later?"

Mike smiled kindly at him, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Course." Stan half-heartedly smiled back before they parted directions. 

Meanwhile, Richie was not paying attention in his history class. His eyes were instead drawn to one Edward Kaspbrak, sitting two desks ahead and one to the right of Richie. He'd known Eddie since first grade. Well, more like known  _of._ They had never really spoken, too far outside each other's circles to ever officially meet. Not that Richie had friends. (Eddie didn't either, but Richie didn't know this yet.) Just that they were different kinds of outcasts. 

Eddie was the shy kid who tried his hardest both in his classes and in his attempts to avoid conflict. Richie was, well, the opposite. He didn't give a crap about schoolwork or much of anything else apart from his music. Bare minimum was his motto when it came to school. He was loud, infuriating really, constantly calling attention to himself both intentionally and unintentionally. He got his ass handed to him on a weekly basis. Nobody wanted to talk to him. At least Eddie sometimes got greeted by the other losers of Derry High. 

Speaking of. 

Richie watched as the boy sitting next to Eddie leaned over and asked a question. In fact, he leaned in a little  _too_ closely to be considered friendly. Not that Richie cared. (He did.) Eddie just interested him. He seemed so... _pure_. Even his clothes were soft. Today, he was wearing a light yellow sweater underneath some faded overalls. This was one of Richie's favorite outfits. Not that Richie mentally recorded every article of Eddie's clothing, because that'd be weird. (He did.)

Suddenly, Eddie turned around to stare at him, a quizzical expression on his face. Richie felt his cheeks heat up as he realized the teacher had been calling his name for an entire minute now. He quickly stood up, knocking over his chair in his flustered state. It crashed onto the floor with a cacophonous  _bang_ , and Richie cringed. He righted the chair and refused to look at anything but his desk. 

"Mr. Tozier, it's your turn to present. Well, actually, it was your turn to present two minutes ago, but now will work, too." A few snickers rang out throughout the class. Richie felt his stomach drop. He'd completely forgotten to even attempt to bullshit the project.

He shook off the feeling of dread at his parents' reaction with a sly grin. "That sure sounds like the problem of Richie from two minutes ago, ma'am." He watched her jaw clench, brows set into a glare, pleather heel tapping a steady 4/4 beat on the tiled floor.

"Richie, either you get up here and present, or you march yourself down to Principal Gray. Your choice," she spat out as if disgusted by the words. 

 _Ah, fuck it._ No way was Richie Tozier going to cave now. "See ya tomorrow, then!" He grabbed his bag and strolled out the door. A scoff called out behind him, and he just _knew_ it was from Eddie.

Lunch found this very same Eddie in the janitor's closet by one of the many trophy cases within Derry High. He came here to read, unsure of what else to do during lunch. It wasn't as if he had friends to sit with, and a lone loser was far more vulnerable in the wild. It was cramped, but Eddie was small. He was content in his little (literally) haven. The familiar smell of cleaning supplies comforted him, and the small nest he'd made in the corner had yet to be disturbed by the janitors. 

After his stomach loudly grumbled, Eddie blindly shot a hand out in the vague area he had placed his backpack. Instead of the beautifully spotless Granny Smith he'd packed himself that morning, his hand connected with one of the upright brooms. And then the three other brooms and mops. They all clattered to the floor, caring little for the boy scrambling to catch them. 

As Eddie fumbled with the wretched things and his book, the door swung open, a smug Principal Gray on the other side. Eddie winced as he received the detention. As soon as the door shut again, he groaned and slammed his head against the wall. 

During second lunch, football tryouts were being held on the field. Three members had been injured already this season, so the coach desperately needed any half-decent players. Bill hesitantly joined the small group of team hopefuls. His father had been on this very football team decades ago, and Bill thought this shared characteristic might help mend their relationship.

Yes, he knew he was grasping at straws.

The only problem with his master plan to win his father's pride was this: Bill sucked at sports. Every sport. He didn't have a single athletic cell in his body. However, he'd been practicing for hours on end for the past couple weeks for these exact tryouts. 

He quickly learned his "intensive training" hadn't been anywhere near enough. He was the slowest and the weakest of the bunch. He could only throw the ball a few yards, and had even less success catching it. When the time came for tackling drills, he didn't even make the dummy budge an inch. 

He was at his absolute wits end when he saw Stan talking to Mike. Mike was the star quarterback of the team, a massive 6'3" muscle man. Comparatively, Bill was a beanpole. Actually, Bill was a beanpole all by himself; Mike just exacerbated it.

A hard  _smack_ to his head brought him out of his self-deprecation. Henry Bowers doubled over laughing at his pained cry. Through his blurred vision, he could make out Mike sternly telling Henry to stop it, but he didn't care. With a growl, he kicked the nearest ball in their direction. As fate would have it, he completely missed, instead hitting the coach in the gut. He knew the words Coach Smith was choking out before he even managed.  _Detention_. 

That afternoon, the students gathered in the gym for a mandatory pep rally in honor of Principal Gray's new sponsorship. Eddie curled up in one of the top bleachers away from everyone else, sucking in a breath in surprise when Richie plopped down next to him without even acknowledging his presence. He sputtered and returned to his book, willing his blush away, and pointedly ignored the newcomer.

Below them sat Bev, completely oblivious and bored out of her mind. One day, and she already knew this school was a shit-show. Her mother's jacket was itchy, and she found herself pulling at the sleeves occasionally, cursing Gray and Mrs. Marsh every time.

Principal Gray droned on and on about how generous TurboBlast was, among other obsequities. Something  _grateful,_ something  _future_ , something _athletes,_ and so on. Above her, she could hear two guys arguing over the merits of movies based on books. She tuned them out as soon as Gray uttered a word more closely tailored to her interests:  _empowered_. 

"We want empowered students. TurboBlast is allowing you all to become empowered!" 

 _He wants empowered students, huh?_  

Bev nodded in agreement with herself and abruptly stood up, caring little for the confused and irritated glances other students gave her. Without preamble, she ripped off her jacket and threw it on the floor beneath her. She hoisted herself on top of her bleacher bench and faced Gray, who was now staring murderously at her. 

"How can you ask us to be empowered when we can't express ourselves? How can we, as  _human beings_ , be empowered without free-will?" A few whoops and cheers from around the gym raised her confidence. "My shirt? My body? My rules." One of the two guys behind her wolf-whistled and was immediately smacked with something hard.

Principal Gray descended from the podium and hurriedly ushered the press to the doors. Bev only spoke louder. "How many of you feel trapped in this school? How many of you feel afraid or incapable of just being yourself? We deserve to be heard. We deserve to be seen. But Principal Gray, he doesn't want to even acknowledge we exist. Be heard! Be strong! Be proud!" She grinned and bowed at the applause she received before sitting down, definitely feeling empowered. 

 _Detention._  

She wasn't surprised. Gray had spent about ten minutes reprimanding her in his office before "letting her off the hook," as he deemed it. Apparently, he'd wanted to expel her, but "mercifully" gave her detention since it was her first day. She rolled her eyes as soon as she escaped. 

Looking down at the flimsy pink sheet, she sighed and made her way to the elevator.  _What school has detention in a basement?_

The basement was the antithesis of the school above. Teenagers of every demographic bustled around, each carrying something different, some with instruments and others with art supplies. Music was booming from a speaker in a corner inhabiting easels and paint-covered students. As Bev made her way into the chaos, a boy she vaguely recognized approached her. 

He was that kind of tall and broad that let you know he used to be a fat kid. He loomed over Bev, but she didn't feel intimidated in the slightest. (Not that it was easy to intimidate Bev, but he had an especially calming presence.) 

He held out his hand, an unlikely gesture. "Hey, I'm Ben. You're new here, right?" He smiled at her, an easy-going, "I'm a great person" smile. It was almost too much for her heart. She found herself unconsciously returning the grin and shook his hand.

"Bev. Well, Beverly. But only my mom calls me that, so I beg of you, do _not_ call me that." She inwardly cringed at her word vomit. Ben laughed, a melodious, free sound without a trace of malice at her awkwardness.

"Will do,  _Bev._ Technically I'm Benjamin, but only my grandmother calls me that... unless you wanna be lumped in the same group with her?" He smiled at her again, and she felt a butterfly or two attempt to escape her stomach before her furious acid dissolved them. Bev did not get nervous, especially not because of a  _guy_. "So what can I do ya for?" he asked with a slight smirk. 

She cursed herself for blushing at the innuendo. "Well, Benjamin, I'm on a quest for detention." She held up her pink slip, to which he nodded with recognition. 

"The pep rally stunt?"

She let loose a shit-eating grin. "Glad to know I'm already a celebrity around here."

"It was fucking awesome, Bev. Seriously. You should pursue that kinda thing, protesting?" 

She blushed and brushed off the compliment with a noncommittal shake of her head. 

Ben studied her for a moment before pointing a finger down the hallway. "Detention's in the music room, right down there." She followed his finger and found what looked like the entrance to a Heaven ruled by the Devil. The ceiling was falling apart, the floors were a mess, and the lights were flickering ominously. However, there was a bright light at the end. A blindingly bright one. 

Someone called Ben's name from behind them. Bev turned to him, his cheeks rosy. She gleefully realized he had been staring at her. 

"I, uh, gotta go. AV club awaits." Still, he lingered.  _He has nothing to worry about._ Bev would definitely ensure they met again. 

"I'll see you around, Ben from AV." She gave him one last smile before heading down the Hallway of Possible Doom. She soon attributed the source of the brightness to an old, retro-looking lemonade vending machine.  _Who the hell makes a lemonade vending machine?_ Some douche named Mel, apparently. The lemonade was even organic. She scoffed before pulling out a few quarters to purchase a can.

Little did she know, the four students awaiting her arrival past the closed door to her right had all bought the strange lemonade as well. 

A minute later, Eddie was planning exactly how to kill himself. Stuck in a dingy old basement for an hour. With  _Richie Tozier_ of all people. Richie Tozier, his brand-new waking nightmare. It was as if fate decided to take a shit on Eddie today, the way Richie suddenly seemed completely invested in him. He futilely pretended to ignore the way Richie stared at him from the desk over.

Eddie only had a basic knowledge of his fellow detention captives. Richie Tozier, as already established, was fucking off the wall. He didn't give a shit about most things, and it got him in trouble a lot. Now, for whatever reason, he seemed to at least give a fraction of a shit about Eddie. Beverly Marsh was the new girl who gave a badass speech earlier, interrupting Gray and everything. He imagined that if he was into girls, he would have liked her. Stanley Uris was that typical sheltered kid trying to break out of his shell. He was dating Mike Hanlon, who shared nothing in common with the other jocks aside from his athleticism. And Bill Denbrough was that guy whose little brother died. 

Once Beverly sat down, Ms. Reznick tiredly went over the rules of detention—no eating, no talking, no noise, no homework, etc.—before launching into an powerful speech about cleaning up the new (old) music room, muttering vague obscenities about budget cuts and Principal Gray. 

She was interrupted by the unpleasant sound of a toilet flushing right over their heads. Eddie shivered, his body fighting tooth and nail to go into panic mode, but he held steadfast.  _Not right now, fucker._ Ms. Reznick glared at the ceiling and set off to complain to Gray, yelling over her shoulder that they needed to start cleaning up. 

Eddie and Stan quickly stood up, grabbing rags and spray bottles, and set to work. Bev groaned and whacked her head against a wall twice. Richie heaved himself up and followed Eddie, a resigned look on his face. From the corner desk, Bill began tapping a rhythm with two pencils. It was a tic he'd picked up along with his stutter. Only recently had he discovered drums as an outlet.

Richie began throwing a set of keys back in forth in time with Bill's tapping. They made eye contact as Bev broke out into a grin. She ran over to grab an acoustic guitar off the piano and tuned it before beginning to strum. The trio soon evolved into a quartet when Stan threw down his rag and picked up the stand-up bass, plucking a few strings to acquaint himself with the rudiments. 

Eddie was resolutely acting as though none of this was happening, passionately scrubbing down an old viola on the floor. Bill weaved his way through the mess to an old set of drums, sticks conveniently placed beside, as Richie dusted off the piano. Still, Eddie scrubbed. He couldn't help but notice the spontaneous music the group was playing matched rather well with a song he'd written a while ago. Feeling eyes on him, he turned to find Richie urging him to join in, eyes pleading and head beckoning. Eddie whipped back around, fighting with himself.  _C'mon, Eddie. This could be fun. Just give it a try, would you?_

Eddie waited for the next few beats before coming in, starting under his breath and slowly working up to an audible decibel. 

 _"Na na na na na,  
__na na_." 

Not his most creative, but hey, it wasn't easy to write songs. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Richie grinning like a madman and fist-pumping. Fondly rolling his eyes, Eddie continued, his confidence bolstered. He stood up, threw aside the rag, and began dancing around the room, flitting in between his "band" members with a carefree expression.  _This is fun_. 

 _"Take a look around,_  
_who would've thought we'd all be here?_  
_So let's mess around_  
_'cause the future is unclear._  
_We got nothing better to do._  
_We're just trying to get through._  
_Can you hear me?_  
_Can you hear me?_  
_Yeah."_

Bev was having the time of her life on guitar, completely flabbergasted by the direction this detention had taken. Bill pounded out on the drums, not missing a single beat like he so often did when speaking. Stan plucked the bass as if that was his primary instrument instead of the violin. And Richie was staring at Eddie. He still played his role on the keys but deemed it more important to watch Eddie prance around, acting in a way Richie had never even believed possible. He was grinning ear to ear, singing with a beautiful voice that simply melted Richie's insides, turning him into gangly goo. His eyes were shining, and his cheeks were glowing. Eddie finished off his dancing by stopping in front of the microphone Bev had pulled from the clutter for him.

 _"Let the music groove you._  
_Let the melody move you._  
_Feel the beat and just let go._  
_Get the rhythm into your soul._  
_Let the music take you_  
_anywhere it wants to._  
_When we're stuck and can't get free,_  
_no matter what we'll still be singing."_

Eddie stepped away from the mic after spotting a boa. He promptly wrapped it around Stan's neck, who laughed in appreciation. Eddie then found a viking hat and placed it on Bill's head, earning a thrilled smile in return. He wormed his way over to Bev with a ridiculous pair of sunglasses and gently placed them on her face, somewhat struggling because of how she moved with her guitar. 

 _"C'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_It's all we got,_  
_we're gonna use it._  
_C'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_Yeah."_

Then, he turned to face Richie, a cowboy hat in his hands. Richie leaned down so Eddie could place it on his head but straightened at Eddie's hesitance. Eddie was flushed a pretty red as he awkwardly set the hat down in front of Richie, who pushed past the slight sting of hurt to don his new garment. Eddie bit his lip during a lull in the lyrics and almost crashed into Bev as he pivoted back to the mic.

 _"All we have is now._  
_Let's make the most of this._  
_Come on break it out,_  
_so everyone can hear it._  
_They don't have to understand,_  
_but we'll make them if we can._  
_Do you hear me?_  
_Are you with me?_  
_Yeah."_

Eddie began "dancing" with a model skeleton wearing a sombrero. Bev guffawed, Stan and Bill chuckled, and Richie couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of weirdly misplaced jealousy towards the inanimate hunk of plastic. He decided to focus on Eddie's face instead. Eddie's slow dance quickly took a turn towards disaster when the skeleton started falling on him. He kept singing through his laughter, too happy to care how bad he sounded. (He really didn't sound that bad, if a little breathy.)

 _"Let the music groove you._  
Let the melody move you.  
_Feel the beat and just let go._  
_Get the rhythm into you soul._  
_Let the music take you,_  
_anywhere it wants to._  
_When we're stuck and can't get free,_  
_no matter what, we'll still be singing."_

Now, Eddie was purposefully dancing like a dweeb. He added some disco points to his macarena for effect. Then, he began acting as if there was an audience watching them, running along in front of the others holding his hand down for imaginary high-fives with fans in the front row of a concert. Richie kind of wanted to cry.

 _"C'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_It's all we got,_  
_we're gonna use it._  
_c'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_Yeah._  
_C'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_It's all we got,_  
_we're gonna use it._  
_c'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music."_

Now, Eddie and Bev were leaning against each other, back-to-back and belting out the lyrics. Stan had also joined in, though less confidently. Richie added a few trills to his simple chords in a bid to garner Eddie's attention.

 _"Let the music groove you._  
_Let the melody move you._  
_Feel the beat and just let go._  
_Get the rhythm into you soul._  
_Let the music take you,_  
_anywhere it wants to._  
_When we're stuck and can't get free,_  
_no matter what, we'll still be singing."_

Eddie caught Richie's eye with a grin and bounced over to the piano, bobbing his head to the beat in this adorable way that made his short curls jump up and down. Richie was officially smitten. He played a few more riffs to watch Eddie's face light up again and again. From behind Eddie, he could see Bev rolling her eyes and quietly laughing at him. He made a mental note to give her a special _"fuck you"_ later. 

 _"C'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_It's all we got,_  
_we're gonna use it._  
_Feel the beat and just let go._  
_Get the rhythm into you soul."_  
  
By now, Eddie was staring straight into Richie's eyes, the latter glancing down at the piano every few seconds to check his positioning (and to take a break from the intensity of Eddie's gaze). At this point, Ms. Reznick reentered the room, unbeknownst to any of the students.

 _"Let the music take you,_  
_anywhere it wants to._  
_c'mon, c'mon,_  
_turn up the music._  
_Yeah."_  
  
"Oh my god!" Ms. Reznick's scream reverberated throughout the room. Stan immediately put down the bass, apologizing profusely as he headed back to his seat. Eddie followed suit, turning away from Richie with a terrified look and curling up in his desk. 

Ms. Reznick sounded like she might be having a seizure. "Wuh-what? I... I... but... oh my god?!" _  
_

The remaining teens moseyed back to their seats, all five of them staring down at their desks in a repentant manner, not wanting to get in more trouble. 

"You... you five..." Eddie and Bev reflexively tensed in anticipation of punishment. "... are incredible! That was amazing! Gah!" Eddie and Bev exhaled in relief while the others gasped in surprise. 

"Excuse me?" Richie asked. 

"You should join Rising Star! Hah! That'll show Gray..." Realization seemed to dawn on her. "That'll show Gray! If you guys win Rising Star, Gray'll put more funding into the arts!" 

"Rising Star?" Bev asked. 

"It's like a talent show," Stan answered, always matter-of-fact. 

"Yeah, they always talk about it on the radio." Richie promptly began imitating the jingle for it, struggling to beatbox and sing at the same time. Bill came to his rescue. 

"That's not even how it goes, idiot," Eddie snapped. He couldn't stand watching Richie act like such a doofus. 

"Wanna give it a go then, Eds?"

"Eds? Do me a favor, and  _never_ call me that again, dipsh-" he glanced up at Ms. Reznick's looming figure before ad-libbing, "dipshoot." 

Richie cackled, a full-belly roar that made Eddie's neck hairs bristle. 

"Besides, I can't sing."

"Um, I'm pretty sure we  _all_ just heard you sing, Eddie," Ms. Reznick broke in. 

Eddie colored. "Yeah, but that wasn't, like,  _real._ I couldn't sing in front of a crowd." 

"We're not even a band, Ms. R," Bev added. 

Ms. Reznick laughed outright at this. "This kind of thing doesn't just  _happen_ _!_ This is destiny! You guys...  _belong_ together!" 

"Well, I'm out," Bev replied.

Stan and Bill quickly followed her lead. 

"What about you, Eddie?"

"Yeah, uh, no. Especially not if nobody else does it."

Richie cleared his throat. "Well, that seems to just leave, um, me! I, for one, have no problems going solo, if that's what you want Ms. Reznick."

"No, no, you guys have to do it together! Come on!" Ms. Reznick began to despair. 

Stan broke the silence. "Even if we did Rising Star, we'd just lose to Mudslide Crush."

"He's r-right, you know. muh-Mudslide Crush would destroy us," Bill agreed.

"Yeah, they're  _amazing_ ," Stan emphatically continued.

Bill muttered, "They're n-not  _that_ good..." 

Ms. Reznick shook her head no. She turned to Bev, clearly desperate now. "You said it yourself, Beverly. You deserve to be heard. This is the perfect way for you to make yourselves heard. Music is a lot harder to drown out than just words." 

The five teens considered this as the bell rang, signalling the end of detention. Ms. Reznick reluctantly let the issue of the band go and dismissed them. Bill and Stan talked on the way to the parking lot, Bev following a few steps behind them. Eddie slowly headed over to his bike, Ms. Reznick's words ringing in his mind.  _Be heard_. 

"Eds!" 

 _Richie sure liked being heard_. 

Eddie sighed as he unlocked his bike, not even bothering to glance up at the long mess of limbs in front of him. "Don't call me that, asswipe." 

"Okay, then, Eddie Spaghetti."

Eddie groaned, "God, that's even worse!" 

"I could call you Edward."

"And I could call you Dick."

"Funny you should say that, that's your mother's greeting when she calls me." Richie didn't miss the way Eddie genuinely grimaced at the mention of his mother or the way he quickly shook his shoulders and rearranged his expression.

"Ugh, shut  _up_. That's disgusting."

A car horn  _beeped_ impatiently behind them. "The Tozier Truck awaits, Eds. I bid you adieu, my foine gentleman." Richie took Eddie's hand off his handlebars and placed a grandiose peck on his knuckles. Eddie's mouth fell open, and he almost yanked away his hand. Richie smiled at him before saluting and getting into the passenger side door of the truck. Eddie watched him drive off, eyes never leaving the red truck until it fell out of view.

He glanced down at his burning hand, still a little moist from Richie's lips.

 _Fuck_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so s o r r y for this Mess


	2. Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the band begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: bev's dad is a piece of shit in the beginning: verbal child abuse, mentions of past physical child abuse
> 
> but everything will be okey-dokey artichokey 
> 
> this is soooooooooooooo late oops

Bev hated her father. Yes, she knew pretty much every teenage girl claimed to hate their dad; however, she actually, truly, genuinely,  _despised_ hers. He was despicable in a way that made her resent sharing his DNA. Furthermore, she detested that he made her hate her mother for staying with him. In truth, she had once loved her mom more than anything in the world. But now, all she could see in her mother was her inability to protect Bev or herself.

"Beverly, would you like to explain to your father why you got home late tonight?" her mother inquired from across the dinner table, pointedly biting the piece of broccoli off her fork and eyeing Bev down.

She could also be a mega-bitch when she wanted. 

Bev carefully watched her father's inquiring expression laden with false "fatherly" concern, wondering how she wanted to play this. He was going to find out about the detention eventually, but she could either beg for forgiveness or basically give him a big ol'  _"fuck you."_  

She chose the latter with a secret smirk. 

"I made the principal my _bitch_ , and he bit back with a detention," she said proudly, happily chomping down on a bite of pork.

She studied his jaw clenching, her mother's eyes widening. Bracing herself for a Marshian explosion, she waited. And waited. But nothing came. Her smile wavered, uncertainty clouding her triumph.

Instead, a cruel smile spread like evil ooze across her father's face. He shook his head condescendingly, staring her down like a predator. "Bevvie, you ain't ever gonna do anything meaningful in your whole damn life. You're useless, you realize that, right?" He punctuated his words with a jab of his dirty fork in her direction.

Bev sat there in shock, his words punching her in the gut harder than his fists ever had. Even her mother looked affronted. Mr. Marsh simply chuckled, wicked eyes gleaming at Bev. Her heart pounded in her chest, neurons firing far too quickly for comfort. She felt burning tears well up behind her eyes, but she forced her tear ducts to suck them back up. She hadn't cried in front of her father in years, and she wasn't about to start again after some stupid comment. She took a moment to compose herself, concentrating in order to imitate his caustic, self-assured tone.

"You know what,  _dad_ _?_  " The word felt unpleasantly foreign on her tongue. "I really could make a change. Hell, I could start a fucking  _revolution_. And you? You'll stay trapped here in Derry just to die at fifty, and nobody will go to your funeral, you sad, fat _fuck_." She angrily scraped her chair back and shot up from the table to scramble to her room, ignoring his booming yells from behind her.  _Fuck him._ She locked her bedroom door and carefully pulled out the knife she kept in her bedside table, resting it by her pillow in case he tried anything. It was going to be a long night. 

That was okay. She had a _lot_ to think about anyway.

* * *

The familiar exclamation of  _"As if!"_   from Cher Horowitz alerted Eddie to a text the next morning at school. (Eddie is a die-hard  _Clueless_ fan; don't @ me.) He shoved the rest of his books into his locker and flipped his bookbag around to his front to dig for his phone. He curiously scanned a notification of a text message from Bev, surprise and confusion etched in his face. He was so taken aback by the unusual correspondence that he didn't notice a looming presence stroll up behind him.

"'Fluke or destiny?' You think it's about the band?" Richie Tozier spoke earnestly right next to his ear,  _far_ too close for comfort or propriety. 

Eddie literally jumped, slamming his head back into his still open locker door. He spun around to find Richie leaning over him, arm casually resting on top of the lockers, a delighted look upon his face. Eddie flushed deeply as Richie began to laugh, shaky exhales of breath evolving into full-belly squawks. Eddie realized he still had his backpack in front of him like some absolute  _dweeb_ , and he flipped it around as Richie's laughter only grew louder. 

Oh, how he wanted to die right there and then.

"Fuck _off_ , Tozier," he spat out in embarrassment. He quickly slammed his locker shut and turned on his heel to leave, muttering irately as he walked away

Richie's face fell, and he awkwardly looked around for witnesses before ambling down the other direction, scratching his head. 

* * *

Pennywise's Pizzeria was  _our_ place. It's where it all really began. If Bev hadn't sent that text, I don't think any of us would ever have spoken again. Well, maybe Richie still would have fucked with me. He says he would have, and I like to believe that's true. Who knows, maybe we still would have ended up-

I'm getting off track. 

The pizza place was rundown, in no better condition than the school. However, it felt less like a prison and more like the dingy yet cool hangout spot for the teen protagonists in some indie mumblecore film. The pizza wasn't great, but it was the best Derry had to offer. There was also this creepy clown animatronic stationed on the small stage where bands, including ours, sometimes played. I still have nightmares about that thing. If you put a quarter into it, it would do this eerie prancing motion, apparently "dancing." It was one of the last remnants of the original 50's restaurant, a ghoulish anachronism in an age where clowns are now almost universally deemed horrifying. 

I still remember (mostly fondly) our first time all hanging out there. While detention set the precedent for what we  _could_ be, the pizza place cemented our fate. We were to be a band. We were to be  _Lemonade Mouth_. 

* * *

Eddie reluctantly entered Pennywise's Pizzeria, the smell of grease and _dirty_ instantly flooding his airways. He fought the strong urge to either upchuck or leave and took a deep breath. He wasn't totally calm, but it helped.

Glancing around the dim restaurant, he quickly spotted his detention-mates from the day before. He sighed, futilely trying to shake off his unease, and headed over to their booth. Richie caught sight of him first, beaming and motioning him over. Bev gave him a toothy grin, ecstatic Eddie had decided to come. Stan and Bill cordially waved hello as Eddie slid onto their bench. They got the usual niceties out of the way and ordered once the waitress came around. 

Stan went straight to business, eyeing Bev over his root beer. "Okay, Bev, the hell is this about?" 

She raised her eyebrows, excitement clear in her eyes. "The band, Stan!" 

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "We're not a band. That was just..." he vaguely waved his hand, unsure of how to finish his thought.

"A miracle," Bev supplied.

"A sign from fucking God," Richie followed. 

They smiled at each other, the kind of smile that keyed you into how much they clicked, the kind of smile that sparked undue jealousy within Eddie. 

"Besides, I've already signed us up for the bash and Rising Star," Bev flippantly revealed, as if she were talking about the chances for rain that afternoon.

Eddie forgot how to breathe, Stan groaned, Bill stared, and Richie cheered. 

"Wait, the Halloween buh-Bash? I thought the cuh-Crush was p-p-playing that," Bill questioned.

"And we're opening for them," she smirked triumphantly, as if she had just blessed them all with a million dollars and expected gratitude. 

Eddie was having trouble processing any of this.  _I can't just_ sing _in front of our entire high school!_ To put it lightly, he was freaking the fuck out, and he desperately repeated his mindfulness exercises to settle his snarling anxiety. He waved his hands to shut everyone up and spoke. 

"Woah, woah, slow down. What the fuck? How are we supposed to play in _two_ _weeks?_  We don't have any songs!" Eddie tumbled out in one drawn-out breath, trying not to devolve into full panic mode. Bill and Stan nodded in agreement, both looking to Bev and Richie for an answer.

"You'll write our songs, Eds. We already know you're amazing, so don't even try to pretend otherwise," Richie replied, pointing an almost accusing finger across the table at Eddie. 

The compliment caught Eddie off-guard, and he furiously blushed and bit back his retort for fear of his shaky voice giving him away. He stared down at the table, viciously fighting off the feeling of Richie's eyes on him.

Bev began to plead once she realized she was currently outnumbered. "Guys, I want to do something that actually fucking matters. This... this  _matters_. We deserve to be heard!" She emphatically looked to each of them, clambering for support. 

Richie backed her up. "Bev and I are both in. That leaves you three. Actually, two, because ain't no fucking way I'm letting Eddie decline." 

Eddie sputtered in denial, a half-snort releasing from his mouth without permission.

"I don't know, guys. I mean between violin and school, I don't really have the time to even  _be_ in a band. My father wouldn't like it either," Stan regretfully explained. He appeared torn. Bill looked at him pityingly, hesitating before lightly laying a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"What about just one practice? If it doesn't work, it's over, sure. It'll be like a trial run." Bev replied after a moment. The idea seemed to appeal to both Stan and Bill. Eddie still wanted to die. However, it seemed futile to refuse at this point. Plus, he was pretty sure a practice would finally dash their undue praise of his talent.

"H-heads we do it, tuh-tails we don't. Okay?" Bill ventured, pulling a quarter out of his pocket. Four  _okay's_ echoed around the table. They leaned in as he flipped the coin, all secretly hoping it landed on heads. 

And it did.

* * *

So let's get something straight. Lemonade Mouth did  _not_ start out as a perfect band. The first practice was a shitshow. Literally, if you consider the fact it was held in the music room beneath the toilets. People seem to assume we worked well from the start, but that just isn't the case.

We met during lunch the next day, none of us sure how the practice would go. It went downhill within minutes.

* * *

"Bill, your rhythm is still wrong! You need to play it like this, or you'll throw us all off," Bev complained for about the fifth time in the past half hour. "And, Stan, come on! Your A chord is flat. Be precise with your fingers or it'll sound terrible."

Stan glared at her. "How about you try playing a new instrument perfectly for the very first time,  _Beverly_ _?"_

She scrunched her nose, rage bubbling beneath her silence. Eddie glanced at Richie. He looked as uneasy as Eddie felt. Suddenly, Stan started putting away the bass. 

"I knew this was a bad idea. I'm out, guys. This just isn't working." Stan grabbed his things and made his way to the door.

"Stan!" 

"Shit, Stan, come on!" 

Eddie ran up behind him, grabbing his arm and turning him around. "You can't leave! We... we can still make this work!" It wasn't until he felt frustrated tears welling up in his eyes that Eddie realized how much he cared about their fledgling of a band. 

Stan laughed, a hollow  _hah_. "Can we, Eddie? Look at us! We're a bunch of losers. We're never going to be any good." 

Eddie felt his heart fall. Stan continued towards the door, no longer looking back. 

Eddie resigned himself to never trying to make friends ever again when an unexpected piano trill rang out behind him. Hope gathering in his chest, he turned to find Richie smiling encouragingly at him and continuing to play. He grinned back as Bev and Bill joined in. Stepping up to meet a confused Stan, he gently grabbed his arm and began to sing. 

 _"Can you see me?_  
_'Cause I'm right here._  
_Can you listen?_  
_'Cause I've been trying to make you notice_  
_what it would mean to me_  
_to feel like somebody._  
_We've been on our way to nowhere,_  
_tryin' so hard to get there."_

Stan rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, fighting back a smile. After a couple lines, he set his bags back down and picked up the bass, ready to try again. He quickly found his bearings and played along with the others. 

 _"And I say, oh,_  
_We're gonna let it show._  
_We're gonna just let go of everything_  
_Holding back our dreams,_  
_And try to make it come alive._  
_Come on let it shine so they can see_  
_We were meant to be_  
_Somebody,_  
_Somebody, yeah,_  
_Somehow,_  
_Someday,_  
_Someway,_  
_Somebody"_

Eddie's eyes had closed at some point during the chorus, brain completely tuning out everything besides the music. After the chorus ended, he opened his eyes and was momentarily surprised to find four other people in the room. He flushed after catching Richie's intense gaze, tripping over some of the wires and receiving a loud snort from Bev.

 

 

_"I'm so tired_  
_Of being invisible,_  
_But I feel it, yeah,_  
_Like a fire below the surface_  
_Trying to set me free._  
_Burnin' inside of me_  
_'Cause we're standing on the edge now._  
_It's a long way down._

Eddie grew somewhat bashful during this verse, as it held very personal meaning to him. He stared straight down at the floor, begging any entity nobody asked about the lyrics. 

But then again, would it really be so horrible to share how he feels with friends? Were they even friends?  _Probably, right?_  

He forged on, pushing past his uncertainties in favor of losing himself in the music again. 

 

_"But I say_  
_Oh, we're gonna let it show._  
_We're gonna just let go of everything_  
_Holding back our dreams,_  
_And try to make it come alive._  
_Come on let it shine so they can see_  
_We were meant to be_  
_Somebody,_  
_Somebody, yeah,_  
_Somehow,_  
_Someday,_  
_Someway,_  
_Somebody"_

Eddie unconsciously brought up a hand to run through his hair, unaware of the life-ruining effect he was having on a certain piano player. He even raised his arm into the air to wave during the bridge, an action he would rethink and regret for days to come.

 _"We will walk out of this darkness,_  
_Feel the spotlight glowing like a yellow sun._  
_Oh oh oh oh oh and when we fall we fall together,_  
_Till we get back up and we will rise as one, oh, oh, oh."_

Bev whistled.

 _"Oh, we're gonna let it show._  
_We're gonna just let go of everything_  
_Holding back our dreams,_  
_And try to make it come alive._  
_Come on let it shine so they can see_  
_We were meant to be_  
_Somebody,_  
_Somebody, yeah,_  
_Somehow,_  
_Someday,_  
_Someway,_  
_Somebody,_  
_Somebody_  
_Ooh ohh oh"_

Eddie closed his eyes as the last few chords rang out, savoring the moment. He was torn from his reverie when Bev started squealing. 

"That was  _amazing_ _!_ Holy shit, Eddie?! Did you really write that?" 

Eddie bashfully nodded his head, twirling the microphone's wire in his fingers. She squealed again and hurried over to hug him. It was the first time anyone had hugged him in a long time, and he felt embarrassingly lonely.

"Jesus, don't hog the man, Bev!" Richie bounced over and pried her skinny arms off Eddie, only to draw him into his own bone-crushing embrace. Richie whispered in his ear, "Fucking incredible, Eds."

Eddie wormed his way to freedom, too overwhelmed to do anything but curse the horrid nickname. 

"That was pretty fuh-fucking awesome, g-guys." Bill said in awe of what they'd done.

"You know what? I think we could actually do this," Stan stated in agreement. 

They all warmly smiled at each other, Richie giving Eddie a noogie while the latter furiously swatted his hands away.

* * *

And so we were officially a band. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for lateness!!!! and the shittiness!!! i am imperfect
> 
> if you enjoyed, please leave a kudos and/or comment! they water my crops
> 
> also also i have a tumblr @ohhimarkohhijohnny if you might be interested

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading my garbage  
> kudos and comments water my crops and feed my children and are always appreciated  
> love y'all
> 
> also if you'd like i made a new tumblr @ohhimarkohhijohnny  
> come chat with me!!  
> if you'd like


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